March 12, 2010

Fiction: “What I Would Say” by Jessica Westhead

I haven’t been to a party before where they served pie, have you? But I guess that’s a silly question because of course you’d know the hosts, so you’ve probably— Anyway, it’s very good pie. It takes creative people to come up with a snack idea like that. I said to Appollonia—that’s who I came with—“Would you have thought of giving out pie?” And she said, “Nope.” But of course... [More >>]

January 22, 2010

Fiction: “Toupée” by Michelle Winters

I saw him on the subway for the first time the day I brought the meat bomb to work. He wore the most glorious toupée. It was the colour of a fox with the front curled under in a Prince Valiant thing that continued on around the sides and back of his head. It didn’t blend in whatsoever with the rest of his real hair, which was a wispy greyish brown. The toupée had a side part that didn’t so much... [More >>]

October 2, 2009

Fiction: Ten surprises and a Hippo

Happy Hippo “You ate my Happy Hippo,” Dave says. “I can’t believe you ate my Happy Hippo.” There is nothing else to say so he leaves. Outside Becca’s flat, snow is rain pretending to be frozen. Susicoyote “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Becca said. She showed them a female coyote-mechanic wearing overalls, holding a wrench. “I want something to put together!” “Then you’d be whinging... [More >>]

August 28, 2009

Fiction: “Accidental Ponds” by Elisabeth de Mariaffi

I met you in a hostel in Rennes. The weather was humid and this made the door stick: I threw my weight against it and fell into the room. Your pink sandals and your pack were lying in a corner and you were there, too: asleep. Eyes turned toward the window. I had to walk around in my socks so as not to wake you, run the tap on low when I washed my face. I had come into town earlier in the evening and... [More >>]

May 22, 2009

Fiction: Five Pounds Short and Apologies to Nelson Algren

Creative Commons photo by Jason Scragz No one ever tells you not to fuck the monkey. Fuck with the monkey. Get fucked by the monkey. The monkey is filled with a selfish wrath, a vengeful will, a self-loathing so encompassing it eats at the fabric of others. And the preaching and questionable advice. The late nights and empty rooms. Bent over some bar, your face in a warm puddle of bile and ochre elixirs,... [More >>]